My Garden, Newly Clear

My garden, newly clear of snow

and ice, lies barren, just brown

and wilted stocks laid flat, last summer’s

blossoms gone and crushed by the weight of winter.

It’s a soggy mess much in need of my attention,

or so my wife tells me, old death

removed and debris to be carted away.

My assessment, quick and cursory, though, reveals

green arrayed beneath the autumn leaves left behind

in winter’s early arrival long before I was ready,

and purple, tiny shoots breaking through the soil,

rain-soaked and rich, spring-time’s

showers’ renewal, this new growth

without me growing, without my attention,

nature left on its own, reclaiming herself:

golden Antheia’s crown of flowers blooming.